


Taste

by Havokftw



Series: I used to be indecisive, now I'm not sure. [3]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alpha Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, College, Coupzi, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jicheol, M/M, Omega Jihoon, Past Lives, Resentment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 12:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11851779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havokftw/pseuds/Havokftw
Summary: The Alpha lingers at the foot of the table, biting his lip. “My names Seungcheol by the way.” He says, trailing off like he expects Jihoon to tell him his.Not bloody likely.Jihoon scowls instead—which is like a full blown conversation for him. The guy doesn’t know anything about him and it’s better it stays that way.Part 3 of Jicheol ABO Series: looking back at Jihoon's first few months in college and his first real interaction with an Alpha.Set before 'Thirst' and 'Hunger' in the series.





	Taste

When Jihoon is 15, his parents pull him out of school one day, dress him in his best clothes and bring him into the living room to meet a _"very important person."_

Kim Jun-Ho is a rotund, middle age man with short black hair, and an unpleasantly greasy face. Jihoon distrusts him immediately, and he hates the way the man scrutinises him, even cupping his chin at one point to turn his face left and right.

"When is he expected to be fertile?" he asks, like Jihoon isn't standing right there and can hear him.

Jihoon's heartbeat thunders between his ears because now he _knows_ what this meeting is about, and he desperately hopes this isn't his future mate.

He doesn't want to imagine this grotesque man naked and writhing on top of him.

Jihoon’s father looks sheepish. "He’s still too young to tell—but we’ve had him examined by the local specialist and he estimates around his 17th Birthday," he says from his spot, reclined against the bookshelf, watching the whole thing in a detached way that makes Jihoon's throat seize in anger.

Jihoon’s mother stands by the window, anxiously furling and unfurling her fingers in her apron. She seems less thrilled about the arrangement, but she's not protesting it, so in Jihoon's book, she's as guilty as his father.

Jun-Ho finally looks away from Jihoon and nods at his father. "I’ll need to see that report before we agree on anything," he says, releasing Jihoon's chin and stepping back, but not before pinching his cheek.

Jihoon simmers as the conversation continues around him.

_“I’ll want a full medical evaluation completed, at my expense of course.”_

_“That can be arranged.”_

_“Have there been any other interested parties?”_

_“A few, but without a fertile schedule it’s hard to keep them interested.”_

_“He attends school? That’ll have to stop.”_

_“Of course—it’s just these new stifling government policies we have to adhere to. When he’s yours—you can do what you please with him.”_

Finally, Jihoon can't stand it anymore and he blurts: "I don’t want an Alpha." and he really can't hide the contempt in his voice. He feels sick at the idea of giving himself to a man old enough to be his father or even grandfather. 

" _Jihoon_ ," his mother chastises, tone cutting, but Jihoon doesn't flinch. He simply stares at Jun-Ho, who for the first time looks back at him with something other than a critical squint. 

Jun-ho first smirks, then chuckles. “Oh dear. Spirited Omega’s are— _truly_ a pain.” He says, reaching out to pat the top of Jihoon’s head condescendingly.

Jihoon flinches away from the touch then, sneering in disgust.

Apparently, that is a bridge too far for his father, who surges forward and grabs him roughly by the hair. "That's  _enough._ Show some respect!" he growls, giving Jihoon a shove before smiling in a phoney, apologetic way at Jun-Ho. "I'm sorry about that Mr Kim, you know what they say—the brightest ones are the most vocal, but he'll mind his manners, you’ll see."

“Hmm—yes, he will.” Jun-Ho muses, strolling towards the door.

Jihoon watches Jun-Ho’s car pull out of the drive from the living room window. When his father returns to the house, he seizes Jihoon by the arm.

“When we have guests—you’ll keep your mouth shut.” He spits.

Jihoon’s fingers curl inward, a fist in progress. “I don’t want to mate with him.”

The hand on his arm tightens painfully. “You don’t get a say. You live in this house—we feed you—we cloth you— _we_ decide. You should know your place by now.”

 

* * *

 

Hate, Jihoon thinks, is a misunderstood thing. It has shades—tastes even, if you hold it down and roll it around on your tongue long enough. Jihoon’s hated a lot of things in his life, but nothing more than his ‘status’ in the world.

He hated the disparity: Alpha, first—Beta, next—Omega, _meh_. It’s just wasn’t fair.

He hated wearing his cousins hand-me-downs _—“When you’re mated, your Alpha can buy you new clothes.”_

That hate was something sour, sticking to his tongue like old milk.

He hated growing up in a backward town-with its small-town mentality, where he was served last in every shop despite queuing for ages. No surprises that Alpha’s always got to skip the line.  

He hated his school where he had to work extra hard to get the teachers attention, where he was denied a tutor, where they called him worthless, a fairy, where an Alpha would pull him behind the bleachers to punch him one day and feel him up the next.

That hate tasted like dog shit and cigarette butts and chapstick that wasn’t his.

He hated that when he started to defend himself he was ridiculed for it. _“Don’t you want a mate? You’re going to build yourself a reputation and no Alpha will want you.”_

Being paraded and auctioned for suitors he didn’t want was worse. Having to bite his tongue when they poked fun at his size, scrutinized his medical records and ridiculed his family history.

That hate tasted like dirt, like muck put in a blender and forced down his throat.

He hated that he couldn’t stop any of it, hated how his status as an Omega made him feel skinny and weak when he was still outranking his peers in every physical pursuit.

Being denied, feeling powerless when you weren’t, tasted like battery acid.

But like he said before, hate is misunderstood.

Hate is _useful_.

He used it. It kicked him forward, it motivated him.

It got him to apply for a scholarship secretly in his last year of school, got him packing his bags and leaving in the middle of the night without so much as a letter for his parents. It got him to run from that house and that school and that dirt smudge of a town. 

Hate got him to the other side of the country, to a respectable University in a big city where he was surrounded with like-minded Omega’s.

Hate made him change the way he held himself, the way he thought, the way he spoke to people.

And hate made him meet Seungcheol.

* * *

 

Jihoon had kind of assumed he'd eventually have the sort of college life that you always see on TV. A few close friends, skipping lectures, pizza for breakfast lunch and dinner, dorm parties where everyone drinks out of those red plastic cups, casual hook ups; all those hints of reckless behaviour he could look back on with a fond sort of amusement.

It didn’t start that way. But, he should have known better, he really should.

This is _him_ we’re talking about.

He wanted to come to Seoul so badly, but sometimes it feels like it could swallow him whole with how much there is to discover. Seoul is the city of Jihoon's dreams - transmutable, equal parts terrifying and beautiful; sometimes home, sometimes a strange place full of people whose scents he could never hope to recognize.

It fits this last mould particularly around his first few months on campus, when Jihoon's  _modus operandi_  is to barricade himself in his dorm for prolonged stretches and venture out of doors only  under the cover of darkness, and then only to the local market and back, unless he's got classes.

His roommate, Jun, thinks he’s got some kind of social anxiety issue.

And maybe he does.

He wouldn't be the first Omega to have an anxiety disorder. It’s stressful being surrounded by the scent of a thousand Alpha’s lurking just outside your doorstep. Anyone of them ready and willing to tear each other’s throats out in order to mount a fertile Omega.

He just doesn’t want to risk it.

He’d kinda been hoping the rest of the Omega’s on his floor were equally as skittish, but of course they have to be super fucking sociable. A few of the Omega’s he gets close with don’t even use pheromone blockers when they go outside. They think it’s hilarious that Jihoon literally drowns himself in the stuff just to attend his classes.

One night, a couple of Omegas from his floor come by his room to invite Jihoon out with their group. They're going dancing, or perhaps figure skating by the looks of their flashy, tight clothing.

Jihoon can't think of a less appealing prospect than letting some anonymous, sweaty Alpha grind against him.

So he declines and they go without him. But when they return, Jihoon’s mystified to discover they’ve got an Alpha in tow.

He hasn’t barged his way in or anything—they’ve _invited_ him. Inside their dorm and into their room. _And nobody has sex!_

They just— _‘hang out’_ apparently.

_What the actual fuck?_

At breakfast the next morning, nobody seems to share his opinion that this is shocking.

It takes him a month of this routine, several more shocks to the system and a weighted conversation with the college counsellor before Jihoon realises he won’t be pounced by random Alpha’s the minute he lets his guard down.

He starts to go out more, he starts having lunch in the canteen, he stops spraying his pheromone blocker like it’s fucking Lynx.

He even has sex. Hooking up with a few Beta’s and other Omega’s.

The sex is disappointingly— _meh_.  But he’s putting that down to lack of experience more than a desire for anything else.

* * *

 

His first up close interaction with a strange Alpha happens one night when he’s in the local convenience store. He rounds the corner only to be knocked over by one rushing past.

He expects the Alpha to keep walking—to ignore him, like they would have done back home. Except this time the Alpha doubles back, helps him up, apologizes for being so clumsy and helps pick his items off the floor. He even places them back in his basket.

Jihoon watches the interaction with a strange sort of detachment, but he manages a polite _‘thanks’_ as the Alpha bids him good day and moves along.

_‘What?’_

His second ‘unsettling’ experience is at the deli near his dorm. He’s queuing to place his order when a group of business men enter. Their Alpha scent is immediately recognisable and Jihoon instinctively turns to shuffle to the back of the queue.

Omega’s are expected to wait.

Then the server behind the counter calls out to him. “Hey kid—you’re next—don’t you want to place an order?”

Jihoon’s gaze darts between the server and the group of men loitering near the counter, one of them nods at him—silently indicating for him to go ahead.

Jihoon’s surprised to be allowed to retake his position in the queue, to place his order and get his lunch without being shoved aside or made to wait till last.

_‘What?’_

He’s never been made to feel so— _relevant_ —before. It goes against everything he’s ever known to be true about the order of things.

But it keeps happening; on the bus, at the cinema, in his lectures. He’s treated like everyone else, like suddenly his status doesn’t matter anymore and nobody truly gives a shit.

Jihoon's spent his entire life segregated by his status and now the world is just jumbling everyone together.

He’s still waiting for it to sink it, to get used to. He's been waiting for a while, and it still feels a lot like a sick and hilarious joke that someone's going to call off any minute.

* * *

  

The line in the canteen is long, and Jihoon spends most of the time judging the back of Soonyoung’s head, like if he looks hard enough he’ll be able to see inside and understand why the fuck he feels the need to fondle all the croissants before picking one.

“While you’re busy _spreading_ your germs everywhere—I’m going to grab a dessert.” Jihoon hisses at him.

As he approaches the dessert kiosk, he’s grateful to find one chocolate pudding remaining. _His favourite._

Just as he reaches for it, so does somebody else, and Jihoon ends up with his hand laid over an Alpha’s.

There’s a spark—mild static from the touch, and then warmth is spreading like fire up Jihoon’s hand and under his skin. His fingers are tingling. He feels _wet_ and unsteady and  _wrong_ , and it's _good._ And he wants to hate it. He really wants to hate it.

The Alpha has his huge hand wrapped around the pudding cup, he’s gotten there first and that pudding cup is rightly his—but Jihoon isn't moving his own off of it, he's just blinking stupidly at it.

The Alpha drags his eyes up the length of Jihoon’s arm to his face, and they both lock gazes. The air in the canteen seems to thicken and time grinds to a halt as they stare at each other.

There's nothing in his head but white noise. Jihoon wasn't aware you could be breathless inside your own mind, until now. It's like a fierce clench of need, too bright and sharp and overwhelming to register as anything but touch and warmth and…. _.mate._

The Alpha is tall, easily a foot taller than Jihoon if he had to guess, and he wears a pleasant face, and an easy smile. He looks young, early twenties maybe, and beneath his t-shirt Jihoon can see the contours of an intimidating array of muscles. His dark hair flops over his eyes in unkempt strands, and he cocks his head to the side as though considering very important questions.

“Hi.” The Alpha smiles, “My name is Seun-“

“Pudding!” Jihoon blurts out _stupidly_.

The Alpha blinks at him. “Is—that your name? Or are you calling _me_ pudding?”

“No!” Jihoon says, pulling his hand back, suddenly aware of how much broader the Alpha is too, the width and strength of his biceps. He probably shouldn’t start fighting with the guy over pudding but….

“That’s my pudding—you took it.” Jihoon says quietly, afraid, but more than that, confused by a sudden impulse that seizes him— the desire to slowly lower himself to his knees and bow his head.

The Alpha blinks again, and Jihoon spends an uncomfortable moment standing at the desert kiosk as this Alpha sizes him up from the top of his head down to his shoes, a slow, considered examination.

_He’s gonna wipe the floor with me—isn’t he._

Jihoon swallows and doesn’t move, determined to stand his ground, but the Alpha is not incited into a pheromone-induced rage.

The only reaction is the quirk of his eyebrows.

“Oh?” He says, examining the pudding cup intently. “I don’t see your name on it.”

His voice is light and innocent, but his eyes are heavy in a way that Jihoon can’t describe—goading and insistent and incomprehensibly infuriating. Jihoon knows hostility, and this Alpha’s unflinching stare is full of challenge, just aching to start something.

Jihoon scowls. “But my hand was reaching for it.” He argues weakly.

“But my hand got there first.” The Alpha rebukes confidently.

The Alpha lifts the cup higher and scrutinizes it. “It is a very large portion though—“ He says and Jihoon grips the edges of his tray, feeling himself blush when the Alpha steps closer, smiling. “I could be persuaded to share.” He purrs.

Which… sounds inviting as hell, actually, and Jihoon blinks. Reminds himself that he's supposed to be angry here. He's not supposed to be getting ideas.

He feels the blankness of his own face, the tension in his fingers. He should leave, _now_.

“F-forget it,” he stammers, inwardly cursing the way his entire body pulses with interest.

The alpha, a complete ass, smiles wide, lips temptingly plush. “What was that? Changed your mind?” he chuckles.

But, he’s not smiling as Jihoon picks up a toffee pudding instead and walks away.

* * *

 

“What’s up?” Soonyoung asks as Jihoon slides into their booth, nearly spilling his coke in his rush to sit down.  

Jihoon pouts and shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Just—this alpha stole my chocolate pudding.”

“What? When?” Soonyoung asks, swirling three fries in the concoction of ketchup, mustard _and_ mayonnaise on his tray.

“Uh—at the self-selection kiosk. I was reaching for it—and _he_ grabbed it first.” Jihoon says, distracted and kind of grossed out. Soonyoung is gross.

“That’s not stealing Jihoon—that’s just life. It’s not like he took it off your tray.” Soonyoung says to the fries, and shoves a few in his mouth.

Jihoon bristles. “What are you his friend? Who’s side are you on?”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Yours obviously.”

Jihoon snatches the ketchup bottle of the table. “ _Good_! Cause if I see him again, me and you are going to gang up on him and whoop his ass. Take that pudding back and shove it down his throat!”

“Uhhh, Jihoon. I _think_..” Soonyoung’s voice wavers, but Jihoon continues over him, shaking the ketchup bottle vigorously.

“Who does he think he is, big dumb, smelly, stupid alpha.” He snorts, uncapping the bottle and wrapping his hands around the body. “I’ll show him. Nobody steals my precious pudding.” He finishes with a snort.

He looks up, wary of the distinct silence coming from across the table, to find Soonyoung watching him with a troublingly blank expression. “What?”

Somebody clears their throat and Jihoon snaps his head to the side—only to come face to face with the pudding stealing Alpha, standing at the foot of their table. “Hi— _again_.” The Alpha says.

Jihoon makes an undignified sound that may or may not be a squeak, squeezing the ketchup bottle too hard and squirting a far too generous helping all over his fries …..and Soonyoung’s jumper.

_Oh shit._

Jihoon backs into the booth slowly, knowing he's screwed if this tall, muscular— _handsome_ , his brain supplies unhelpfully— Alpha has heard what he said and decides to teach him a lesson.

The Alpha doesn’t have the murderous expression Jihoon keeps expecting, however.

“Sorry—I didn’t mean to scare you there.” He says, smiling with _freaking_ _dimples_.

And there it is, again, a spike of heat in his stomach from the way that Alpha looks at him. Jihoon looks down at his food and tells himself that it is irrational for him to feel this way—he’s  _sick_ with it, his stomach flipping and his face warm.

“You di—didn’t.” Jihoon stammers, still holding the ketchup like he might have to use it for self-defence.

The alpha leans in closer without touching. Jihoon still feels as though he's pinned against the seat—by the sharp, dark gaze if nothing else. But the Alpha keeps his hands to himself, doesn't grab him and incapacitate him the way Jihoon more than half expects.

Suddenly there is not enough air in Jihoon’s lungs, so all he can manage to get out is “W-what ddyou—want?” in stuttered syllables. He is furious at the technicalities of the Korean language in a way he has never been.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to piss you off. I was just teasing about the pudding. I—didn’t realise how _precious_ it was to you.” The Alpha says, reaching over to place the pudding cup on Jihoon’s tray. “It’s all yours—enjoy.” He says, smiling and still, not angry at all.

Jihoon’s gaze darts between the pudding, the Alpha and Ketchup smeared Soonyoung.

_‘Seriously?’_

It's like they've fallen into a parallel universe where an Alpha actually gives a shit what Jihoon thinks, and if he’s upset or not. That takes a moment to sink in, but when it does - when it does Jihoon is still not entirely sure it has. Because - _wow_.

Soonyoung throws a fry at Jihoon to get him to contribute _something_ to the currently one sided truce negotiation.

“Okay. Thank you.” Jihoon mumbles. He definitely means that to sound begrudging rather than blissfully relieved. He's not sure where exactly that went wrong.

The Alpha lingers at the foot of the table, biting his lip. “My names Seungcheol by the way.” He says, trailing off like he expects Jihoon to tell him his.

Not bloody likely.

Jihoon scowls instead—which is like a full blown conversation for him. The guy doesn’t know anything about him and it’s better it stays that way.

“His name is Jihoon! He’s a freshman.” Soonyoung traitorously supplies. “And please don’t take the scowling personally—that’s just Jihoon’s resting bitch face.”

There's a rush of dark, gritty laughter in response. “Ah—okay. Nice meeting you _Jihoon_ , I guess I’ll see you around.” Seungcheol says, turning to leave.

Jihoon breathes a sigh of relief, that went better than expected—OH MY GOD HE’S STILL HERE!

“Oh—and another thing.” Seungcheol says, leaning in again momentarily. “I really appreciate you not whopping my ass.”

 

* * *

 

Jihoon is standing in line at the coffee shop, contemplating whether it's a chai latte or a double espresso kinda morning, but his neck prickles with awareness as an Alpha enters the shop.

His headphones project silence into his ears. The only thing he hears is the background hum of the espresso machine as the barista foams milk, and the sudden rush of blood pumping towards his face.

Even without looking behind him, he knows it’s that Alpha from the canteen— _Seungcheol_. He can actually _feel_ it when Seungcheol approaches his back, like a magnetic pull.

“Hey Jihoon!” Seungcheol says immediately, smiling so broadly, so brightly, that Jihoon wonders how on earth somebody could react to his mere  _presence_  like they had won the fucking lottery. He hasn’t even done his hair today, for Christ’s sake, so it’s kind of floppy and curly and basically unacceptable.

Jihoon grits his teeth and shuffles further in the queue; he doesn’t so much as speak to Seungcheol.

Seungcheol speaks to him, though.

“How have you been?” he asks, leaning closer over Jihoon’s shoulder. “Do you usually get coffee here? Is it good?” he asks.

When Jihoon doesn’t reply—Seungcheol just keeps on talking.

“I’ll be honest I’m not much of a coffee drinker myself. But somebody recommended this place and I have several assignments due in at the end of the week. Gonna need the caffeine.” Seungcheol says so cheerfully, like he’s already maxed out on all the caffeine.

“Do you mind me asking you what you’re studying?” Seungcheol asks.

Jihoon doesn’t answer and again Seungcheol just _keeps_ _on_ _talking_. It’s like the guy loves the sound of his own— _deep—husky—sexy voice_ —or something. God!

“Nice weather we’re having—except for the rain. And the wind. And the thunderstorms. Actually now when I think about it—the weather is kinda shit.” Seungcheol chuckles.

Jihoon tries to pointedly block Seungcheol out by blasting music, but his preferred music is not effectively blastable. He shuffles forward in the queue to maintain distance, but Seungcheol is right behind him. _Obviously_ —it’s a queue—that’s generally what happens. But today Jihoon finds it very unreasonable.

“Are you pledging for any frats? I kinda missed out last year—but I’m thinking of rushing for a few now.” Seungcheol says.

Jihoon resists the urge to press finger and thumb against the bridge of his nose.

“Why do you keep asking me questions whey I’m clearly ignoring you?” He snaps, finally, because no amount of distance keeps Seungcheol from chatting idly.

Seungcheol doesn’t seem offended by his outburst, he simply titters under his breath. “That’s usually what happens in college. You meet new people, you talk to them. They usually answer you back and sometimes you find things in common. It’s called socialising.”

Jihoon blinks as the line shuffles slowly forward. “But—I don’t even _know_ you.”

Seungcheol shrugs sluggishly. “So? We can _get_ to know each other. Do you only speak to people you know right away? How do you make any new friends?”

Before Jihoon can open his mouth to answer, it’s his turn to order.

“Large flat white—extra shot please.” Jihoon tells the harried barista.

She rings it through and Jihoon pats the pockets of his jacket and jeans, searching for his wallet.

Of course, just typical—he doesn’t have it on him. His brain chooses that exact moment to unhelpfully remind him he left it in his other jacket.

 _Great_.

“Here—I got it.” Seungcheol pipes up, fishing out his wallet.

“No—you don’t.” Jihoon protests sharply, but Seungcheol isn’t listening to him. He just grins and places the money flat on the register, pushing it towards the cashier.

Jihoon quickly looks away, already in the process of twisting his body around to leave when a weight settles on his forearm.

“Take your coffee Jihoon.” Seungcheol says.

Jihoon looks down at the hand on his arm, restraining but not grabbing.

Seungcheol’s breathing changes on contact; skin growing warmer, sweat taking on a scent that hits Jihoon’s nose like a shot of oxygen. He has to bite his lip, maintain some kind of control to stop himself from rolling onto his back and spreading his legs.

When he shifts his weight to the other leg, Seungcheol’s hand falls away.

“I’m not letting you buy me coffee.” Jihoon says, and feels rather proud of himself for it.

Seungcheol nods, a knowing expression making his eyelids droop and his eyebrows raise and his body lean forward in confidence. “People can buy each other coffee and it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Jihoon opens his mouth. Closes it. He’s not sure what’s happening. Seungcheol is like a steam roller, making him do things and feel things he doesn’t want.

A steam roller with _really_ expressive eyebrows. That draw further together as he stares at Jihoon. “It’s just coffee Jihoon—relax.”

Jihoon frowns. He doesn't know how he can possibly agree to this exchange, while still keeping his dignity—but almost without realizing, the barista has called up his order and Seungcheol is nudging a steaming cardboard cup against his knuckles.

Jihoon takes the cup, cradles it between both hands. He’s not sure what he’s doing there, standing in front of the counter, silent. He wants to… he wants. Something.

“It’s just coffee.” Seungcheol repeats, voice gentle as he steps forward to place his own order.

Jihoon leaves without saying another word.

He doesn’t even thank Seungcheol for the coffee—he _scowls_ at him, which is probably rude.

No, that’s most _definitely_ rude, but when he’s back out onto the street he places his hands across his chest and feels the racing rhythm of his heart. Something is wrong.

 

* * *

 

It’s funny how sometimes you notice something for the first time, like something you’ve never paid attention to before, but it registers significant in that one moment and then suddenly—you start seeing or hearing about it everywhere.

Like coming across a new word, then everyone starts using it?

That’s how Jihoon feels about Seungcheol, who suddenly becomes as noticeable as a black cat on snow.

Does the guy have doppelgangers? Cause, he’s _actually_ everywhere.

On campus, at the cinema, in the canteen, across the street buying coffee, walking down the pavement with his freakishly tall Alpha friend. He’s even invading Jihoon’s dreams with alarming regularity.

Jihoon tries to avoid him as best he can—not just because the Alpha is totally weirding him out, but because Jihoon is uncomfortable with how  _he_ feels around him. He tries not to think about that day in the canteen when he was almost bowled over by his touch, or how warm he felt just being in the same room as the guy.

Right. He’s not thinking about all of  _that_ stuff.  

He spots Seungcheol a couple times between classes, but Jihoon keeps his head down and hurries along. He knows Seungcheol is looking for him—he can practically  _feel_ the Alpha’s gaze at his back, but he refuses to slow down or look back.

It works, for a little while at least, until one day.

“I don’t think we’re going to find an empty study room Jihoon—not today.” Jisoo says, following Jihoon down the narrow library corridor.

“There’s one near the back here that almost nobody knows about, we can—fuck.” Jihoon freezes, peering through the glass window of the door and wincing at the sight of Seungcheol.

Oh my God, why does he keep bumping into the guy? Does he give off some sort of signal or something? And if so how does he make it  _stop_.

“What?” Jisoo asks, craning his neck.

Jihoon sighs, “Nothing. It’s taken. Lets go.”

“There’s just one guy in there.” Jisoo points out.

“Yeah, but he’s an _Alpha_.” Jihoon hisses.

Jisoo’s eyebrows draw together, rising in the centre. “So? Don’t be like that—come on.”

“No—wait.” Jihoon scrambles to stop him, but Jisoo’s already pushing it open and poking his head in.

“Hello there, sorry to disturb you.” Jisoo greets.

Seungcheol looks up from his laptop and smiles. “Hey.”

“Would you mind—if we used this study room as well? The library is kinda packed today and we have an assignment.”

“Of course, come on in, I’m just—“ Seungcheol trails off as Jisoo pushes the door open further and Jihoon slots into view. “Well, well, well. Hello Jihoon. So nice to see you again.” He drawls.  

Jihoon can hear the smile in his voice, the way it warms the words with a low simmer. He can already feel the tension forming in his shoulders.

“I didn’t know you knew this guy Jihoon.” Jisoo says, nudging him into the room.

Jihoon grips the shoulders of his back pack tightly. “I don’t.” he grumbles under his breath, annoyed already.

“Yes—he does. Don’t be like that Jihoon, don’t be shy.” Seungcheol says. There’s a measure of humour in the words, and when Jihoon finally looks up, Seungcheol is sharing a look of amusement with Jisoo, like it’s a joke.

The room is filled with Seungcheol’s scent, and it does something funny to Jihoon’s stomach again, but he reminds himself he’s pissed, so he scowls at him instead.

“Don’t take the scowl personally—it’s his resting bitch face.” Jisoo whispers to Seungcheol, like he’s conspiring.

“So, I’ve heard.” Seungcheol answers wryly. The unconscious twist of his lips is familiar.

Jihoon turns a betrayed expression on Jisoo as they round one of the desks across from Seungcheol’s. Jisoo just wiggles his brows and beams at him as they both pull out their chairs and sit down.

Jihoon watches out of the corner of his eyes as Seungcheol become reabsorbed in his laptop and exchanges looks with Jisoo. Their silent conversation mostly consists of Jihoon glaring at him and Jisoo raising his eyebrows innocently and mouthing the words “what?” and “he seems nice.”

They study for nearly an hour without interruption. Seungcheol is quiet, for the most part, except every so often he will shift and the noise will draw Jihoon’s attention to the other side of the room. Just to see, just to check. He gets this prickling sensation along his face, like he’s being watched—but every time he snaps his head towards Seungcheol—Seungcheol is staring intently at his screen.

He wonders what Seungcheol is looking at on his screen that makes him smile that way.

It happens when he goes up stairs to fetch a book. Jisoo writes the name and index code on a scrap of paper and Jihoon leaves in search of it.

It’s just typical that the book he needs is on the top shelf and out of his reach. The aisle is empty so he has no problems doing the standard too short to reach shit routine: jumping up and down and trying to grab the hinge of the book.

The next step is to scale the bookcase—which he _also_ has no problems doing. But as soon as he gets his foot on the first shelf it creaks unpromisingly and he jumps off.

Just as he’s about to try again, an arm reaches over his head and pulls the book out.

He follows the length of the arm back to its owner, _Seungcheol_.

“What are you doing?” Jihoon says, on the end of a whole-body flinch. Seungcheol has appeared behind him like a freakin' ghost. 

“Uhh—getting your book down for you?” Seungcheol says, grinning widely in a way Jihoon assumes is supposed to be charming. Jihoon is not charmed. He narrows his eyes.

“Do I look like I need help?” Jihoon snaps, he knows that he's not using his quiet library voice. He's lost his temper, and that's a personal failing.

“Uhh—yes, you looked like you--” Seungcheol starts to say, but the rest of his sentence is lost to the involuntary gulp of his throat. Jihoon can’t see his own face, of course, but he can see the way Seungcheol’s skin pales.

“Well I don’t. Put it back—that’s not even the book I needed.”

Seungcheol clears his throat and tries to look suitably chastised, but really mostly looks pleased with himself, “Look, I was just trying to help.”

“Put— _the—book_ —back.” Jihoon enunciates.

Seungcheol hesitates for a split second, before obliging him.

“Now watch.” Jihoon says, pulling out some heavy encyclopaedias from the bottom shelf of the book case, six in total, and stacking them one atop the other like a staircase.

It takes a considerable amount of effort to steady it, but then he’s climbing it to reach his book as Seungcheol stares in barely concealed amusement.

“See—I don’t need your hel—“ Jihoon begins to say, just as the haphazard arrangement topples over with Jihoon on it.

He expects to kiss the floor and braces himself for impact, but he never hits the ground. Seungcheol’s catches him, an arm slipping around Jihoon’s waist and a hand curling around the back of his knee, lifting him up.

Jihoon feels like he should object to being pulled off his feet, like a girl in springtime, but his brain is somewhat fuzzy as to why that's bad because Seungcheol’s face is hovering inches above his.

This close, he can’t help but breathe Seungcheol in and he feels heat overtake his face as his temperature rises an impossible ten million degrees.

He's felt this before, of course, the low simmer of fascination, awakening and curiosity that's been between them almost from the beginning. This is not a low simmer though, it's a curl of heat, focused, and  _sharp_.

There’s a weird shuddering, deep in Jihoon stomach, and it feels like hunger.

He just _had_ lunch, dammit!

“I stand corrected. You definitely don’t need my help.” Seungcheol says in that silky smooth voice of his that rubs along Jihoon’s senses like a physical thing.

“P—put me d—down.” Jihoon’s voice comes out cracked, unsteady in a way he's not exactly proud of.

Seungcheol’s face goes very still - guilty kind of still – and he sets Jihoon down.

Jihoon busies himself putting the encyclopaedia’s back in their place, willing the heat away from his cheeks. There is silence from behind him, Seungcheol just stands there the whole time, gaze intent on Jihoon’s back, like he’s waiting for something.

“You know I’m not trying to upset you, right?” he asks finally, tone full of frustrated annoyance, “I don’t know why you have a problem with me, but I don’t think I’ve done anything to piss you off. I’m just trying to be friendly.”

Jihoon swallows, turns his head just slightly but doesn’t look back. “Maybe I don’t want to be your friend.” He says flatly. Then winces. That was probably uncalled for. That was probably way ruder than Seungcheol deserved.

There is silence. When he turns around, he expects to see Seungcheol disgruntled, so used to getting his way, but he has turned his back and nods easily as he walks away.

Discomfort twists through Jihoon.

* * *

 

He doesn’t go back to Jisoo and the study room straight away. He heads to a coffee vending machine and then to the toilet to wash his face.

He knows he was rude to Seungcheol, which he feels bad about in some sort of vague way.

He tells himself that it’s okay, that Seungcheol is an Alpha and won’t give a shit what an Omega says, that there’s really nothing to be upset about. But he  _is_  upset. He’s upset and frustrated and he just doesn’t understand why Seungcheol goes out of his way to help him in the first place.

Staring at his flushed reflection, he resolves to be—a little more civil. Maybe scowl less. He even practices it in the mirror.

But when he gets back to the study room, Seungcheol has already gone. Jihoon knows he should feel relieved, but instead he just feels hollow.

“Took you long enough! What the hell where you doing?” Jisoo asks impatiently as Jihoon reclaims his seat across the table.

“Needed a drink and I took a piss. But not in that order. Where is--?” Jihoon trails off, gesturing to the empty desk Seungcheol had been seated at.

Jisoo glances across and shrugs. “Seungcheol? I dunno—he left.”

“Oh. _Good_.” Jihoon says, somewhat peevishly. Though he's rather disarmed a moment later by the look Jisoo throws him, amused and oddly serious at the same time.

“Why does he bother you so much? He seemed nice.” Jisoo asks. It's a fair enough question.

Jihoon looks up from his coffee with palpable misery, “I don’t know him. It’s unsettling.” 

What bothers him the most, he realizes hours later, with Seungcheol’s scent long gone but his frustration ever growing, is that Jisoo didn’t look at Seungcheol and felt the way that Jihoon felt.

He doesn’t know if anybody does.

 

* * *

 

Jihoon thinks his interactions with Seungcheol are bound to stop happening.

It seems _coincidental_ and unlikely that he’ll continue to bump into the same Alpha over and over, when they don’t share any classes or friends.

Except, one day over lunch Jisoo introduces him to a Beta named Jeonghan. Who seems pretty cool and they get to talking and— _surprise surprise_ —Seungcheol appears.

He’s close friends with Jeonghan apparently, and now he’s friends with Jisoo and Soonyoung and Jun and probably Jihoon’s parents and at this rate!

The fact that they’re now officially in the same circle of friends means that Jihoon doesn’t have much annoyance to leverage at Seungcheol.

So Jihoon keeps his distance, (In every way that he’s able to) and ignores Seungcheol, for the most part.

 _Or tries to_.

Seungcheol is huge and dorky and sucks up attention like a sponge; the idea of blocking him out is laughable.

He thinks of the way Seungcheol pushes at him, keeps pushing even when Jihoon ignores him but always leaves before he pushes too far.

For someone he's known for so little time, someone he’s so stubbornly determined to keep at a distance, Seungcheol has found spaces to occupy which Jihoon hadn't even realised were empty. Jihoon is still not entirely sure if Seungcheol means to find ways to be close to him, or if the world bends to accommodate these interactions.

Fanciful, perhaps, but a thought his mind keeps coming back to.

* * *

 

“C’mon Jihoon!” Jun whines. “A huge group of us are going, you’ll enjoy it.”

Jihoon frowns. “Can’t drink, though. I’m underage.”

“I don’t recall you being underage.” Jun flicks an ID at him, pink and green with holographic swirl, which states he’s 21. It says he’s from Busan and his name is Mister Bates. He imagines Jun laughing as he made it.

“You had this ready? That’s presumptuous of you.”                       

Jun raises an eyebrow. “Merely meticulous planning. It’s called practicality, Jihoon, honestly.”

He looks down at the ID. He doesn’t know what a Busan license is supposed to look like, but it looks good. It looks real. “Who will be there?”

“Everyone.”

“Everyone?” Jihoon thinks of Seungcheol’s bulky arms, the stretch of his lips when he smirks. He shakes his head. “I don’t have time this weekend.”

“You studied for three hours last night.” Jun guffaws.

“Yeah. So?”

“If you don’t know it by now, you don’t know it.”

Jihoon scoffs. If that is Jun’s mantra, it actually explains a lot. “Look. Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass. Even if I _didn’t_ have to study—I’m not used to spending the night out around unfamiliar Alpha’s.”

“You don’t have to—just stay in Seungcheol’s protective circle.”

Jihoon freezes. “I don’t _want_ to stay in Seungcheol’s protective circle. Why would you even suggest that?”

“Cause you have a crush on him?” Jun says slow and cautious.

Jihoon’s mouth hangs agape, his heart beat hammering in his ears as he stares at his room mate.

Why the _hell_ would Jun think that?

There is no attraction there _at all_ , because that would make Jihoon the exact Omega he promised he would never be; simpering after the first Alpha that crosses his path.

Why would he even have a crush? Seungcheol is **not** hot in the slightest. **Nope**.

Well—he's _probably_ attractive to _some_ people. If you like ridiculous shoulders and doe eyes and stupid, full lips…..

Ok, maybe he’s the tiniest bit hot. _Fractional_.

Barely worth mentioning.             

Jihoon is 100% sure he didn’t say any of that out loud, but Jun’s looks at him as though he did. He clears his throat.

" _No! Who the hell told you that_?" Jihoon finds himself asking. Because he's kind of unreasonably pissed about it.

Jun shrugs affably. “Nobody I guess. It’s just that you talk about him a lot.”

“Do I?” Jihoon rasps, nearly choking on the question. His face burns in embarrassment. Has he been having dreams about Seungcheol? Has he been calling out his name in his sleep? Oh god! He wonders how long that's been going on!

Jun crosses his arms. “Yeah—you’re always like—why is Seungcheol doing this? Why does Seungcheol do that? Seungcheol is confusing.”

Jihoon’s incredulous expression includes a lot of hand waving and sputtering. “Those were complaints Jun you moron! I’m complaining about him.”

“Why?” Jun asks, bewildered. 

“Cause—he’s always trying to be so friendly, and helpful and kind. And he doesn’t throw his status around like other Alpha’s I’ve met. It’s _infuriating_.” Jihoon explains. Which makes him feel like he's probably a horrible person, being pissed at someone for not being a big enough jerk.

It is disconcerting how far back into Jun’s head he can roll his eyes. “Do you hear yourself? That’s a good thing. He’s a nice guy.”

“You know what, you’re a Beta—I don’t expect you to understand.” Jihoon dismisses, he’s getting very good at the conversational brick-dodging, where Seungcheol's concerned.

Jun pushes his laptop cover shut, forcing Jihoon to face him again. “Try me.”

Jihoon sighs. He doesn’t know how to explain this to someone who doesn’t get affected by Alpha pheromones and pulses out their own like a fucking beacon.

“If he was more like the Alpha’s I’m used to back in home—then at least I know where I stand.” Jihoon murmurs.

When he looks up at Jun, there’s a curious blankness to his expression. He doesn’t get it, after all. Jihoon doesn’t know why he even bothers.

“I thought you wanted to get away from the status issues you had back home? For somebody who protests so vehemently about equality—you’re so quick to pigeonhole Alpha’s and how they should behave against your ideals.” Jun points out.

Jihoon shrugs. “It’s not just that. I can’t even talk to him half the time.”

“What do you mean?” Jun asks, quiet behind genuine confusion.

“He’s just…I don’t know.” Jihoon shakes his head. He knows how to describe the way Seungcheol fills a room, the way he steals all the air in it and leaves Jihoon gasping.

Seungcheol’s presence is suffocating, heavy like a sodden cloud weighing down the sky, as humid-hot and mercurial as a summer lake. Or an ocean, more likely. Something with broader limits than a lake, something he’s more likely to _drown_ in. 

Jun’s quiet for a moment. Jihoon doesn’t understand the expression on his face, but that’s nothing new.

“Look, I know you didn’t exactly have an easy go of things back home. And that sucks, I’m sorry. But you’re in _Seoul_ , Jihoon. I can’t imagine how you could come to study in the most interesting city in Korea and then just…not take advantage of the freedoms it has to offer. Are you really going to spend the rest of college studying and avoiding Alpha’s? You do realise when you graduate—you’re _going_ to have to _work_ alongside them every day. College is meant to prepare you for that. So, sop being a wuss and take advantage of these opportunities when we’re all going to be there.” Jun says it like a challenge.

“I dunno….”

Jihoon wants to say no. It would be the smart decision, really.

Jun makes a good point, he really does. But, something has been happening lately when he’s around Seungcheol. He gets sucked into this vortex where he feels safe, and warm, and he never wants to leave. But that thought frightens him.

He used to know exactly what he wanted, but now everything is muddled with imprecision and indistinctness and uncertainty.

There is an ache inside him, sometimes. An emptiness that feels like a physical thing, a nothingness like a virus, greedy and unstoppable, waiting for its chance to expand and consume.

It’s not that he thinks Seungcheol is responsible—quite the opposite, he needs to prove to himself that he _isn’t._

If he went out, if he knew for sure Seungcheol wasn’t responsible for this shift in his desires, it might be easier. Those questions wouldn’t crowd his thoughts.

The possibility of what he might find is overwhelming.

In the end, it’s easy to say “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

The club is too crowded for Jihoon’s tastes. It’s hard to relax when the entire place is stinking dangerously of unfamiliar alpha and bringing all the territorial violence roaring back to life.

Despite Jihoon’s intention to **not** linger in Seungcheol’s protective circle, he finds himself drifting there instinctively. The tension and fear that was steadily creeping up his back when he first entered, melts away the instant he’s surrounded by Seungcheol’s familiar scent.

He doesn’t want to call it comforting—he really doesn’t. But it is.

Unlike the other Omega’s in their group, who titter in excited glee as they surround the Alpha—Jihoon doesn’t step up close to Seungcheol. He just hovers on the periphery of Seungcheol’s circle. He’s not sure he’s entirely welcome.

Seungcheol doesn’t seem to mind. He just stands there, in that sexy, casual lean, kind of half-smiling at him.

“It’s nice to see you here, Jihoonie. Nice to know you actually _don’t_ just study 24/7.” Seungcheol says.

Jihoon doesn’t respond. Seungcheol will say things like that, and Jihoon gets the impression he’s supposed to laugh, but he just doesn’t get Seungcheol’s sense of humor, or something. The tone is always good-natured and casual, but with a different inflection it would be antagonizing.

Sometimes Jihoon wishes it  _would_  be antagonizing, just so he can stop pretending to get along with the guy.

Seungcheol leans away from the bar and takes a step towards him. “What are you drinking?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Jihoon answers quickly, voice tight. He really needs to work on that defensive thing. “And I’ll be buying my own drinks thank you very much.”

He can see Seungcheol suppress the urge to roll his eyes. “Would you relax! I’m buying drinks for everyone. It’s my turn to buy this round anyway.”

“Well, I don’t _want_ to be a part of this round.” Jihoon says primly.

Seungcheol’s brow twitches, possibly in amusement, possibly in annoyance. “So—what? You came out tonight to hover in my circle and glare at me?”

Jihoon, _incidentally_ , glares up at him “Yes, I did!—I mean—no. I came out to—party? And I don’t _need_ a protective circle. I have my _own_ protective circle.” He announces with some authority.

Seungcheol’s confusing expression cracks, in little flickers and twitches of mirth. “You sure do—that glare is fucking terrifying.” He laughs, and Jihoon _glares_ some more.

“Oh shit—there it is. And it’s stronger than ever.” Seungcheol winces, trying to shield his face with a broad palm.

Jihoon exhales an angry breath through his nose and storms off. But, the second he steps out of Seungcheol’s range, it hits him: the scents of a hundred other Alpha’s lurking in range.

They’re all minding their own business, drinking with their friends, hardly a threat, but Jihoon’s unexperienced nervous system rebels against the rational part of his mind.

He quickly backs up against a wall, petrified, reality slamming into him like a freight train. 

This is his own fault, he’s inadvertently crippled himself. Because unlike Jisoo, Minghao and Seungkwan who openly socialise with Alpha’s all the time, Jihoon’s isolated himself so much he can’t cope being around them.

Through some strange desire for familiarity, he’s recreated the same stifling environment and status inequality he hated during his adolescence. He’s cornered himself without ever realising it.

* * *

 

Jihoon stumbles over to the toilets, heart pounding so hard every Alpha within a thousand miles can probably hear it. The stalls are empty, thankfully, because nobody needs to witness him having a panic attack.

His eyes are wide and pulsing in the mirror, face flushed even though he shivers.

He lets out a sharp breath that can almost be a laugh. But the next one he takes is hitched. His knuckles turn white against the sink as his breathing deteriorates into short, choppy gasps. A sliver away from sobbing.

He backs away from the sink into one of the stalls, locking it, dropping the toilet seat and sitting down. Tucking his knees against his chest, he presses his hands together and feels himself trying to shake to pieces. He takes a breath and refuses, flatly refuses to let it happen.

But the more he tries to muffle it, the sharper each inhale sounds. He tells himself he's imagining the wetness trailing down his cheeks, that it's just sweat.

He needs to move, he needs to leave  _now._  He can't stay here like this, he won't.

There's a voice in his ear, telling him he's worthless. That he can’t make it. _That—you’ve only one purpose as an Omega—you’re to be bred and mated and if you can’t attract a mate you’re worthless to this family._

It's familiar enough to leave air jerking in his throat. Because he doesn't remember that - he doesn't  _want_  to remember that. Not here and not now. The dreams are bad enough, blurring and indistinct but still  _awful_  and he can't relive them here. Not here and not now.

He can hear someone calling his name, but he can't make himself listen - not until there’s a heavy rap on the toilet cubicle.

“Jihoon?” Seungcheol calls out.

Jihoon splutters before swallowing and calling out, “What?”

“Are you alright?” He asks softly.

“Fine.” Jihoon mumbles, wiping the sleeve of his shirt over his tear stained cheeks.

He can hear Seungcheol shift outside, the sound of a cubicle door swinging open, the creak of plastic.

_Did he leave?_

“You don’t _look_ fine.” Seungcheol’s voice echo’s high above his head. Jihoon jerks his head up to find Seungcheol looking down at him from the adjoining cubicle, arms braced against the partition.

“Ah—what the hell! You can’t just do that! What if I was taking a shit in here?” Jihoon protests.

Seungcheol quirks an eyebrow at him. “Do you usually take shits sitting on top of the toilet seat with your pants still on?”

Jihoon laughs, a little, but it’s short and bitter and not really a laugh at all. This all feels rather worth of a scowl, but Jihoon’s not sure he had the energy for a good one. “This is absolutely a breach of privacy.”

Seungcheol holds up a finger as if he's going to refute that, then seems to register Jihoon’s appearance. “What’s wrong? You’re not having fun.” He says instead.

There's enough worry in those eyes that Jihoon figures Seungcheol must have been looking for him outside. He's clearly trying to figure out if something happened.

Jihoon takes a deep breath. He licks his lips. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly not—nothing.” Seungcheol says, looking at him in a way Jihoon is sure Seungcheol must reserve for baby pandas and day-old kittens and people who lock themselves in cubicles to cry. Like Jihoon.

Jihoon’s never been much of a talker, but something about the sincerity in Seungcheol’s eyes compels him into speech.

“I’m—just not used to being surrounded by so many—Alpha’s.” he admits finally, which for some reason turns the considering expression on Seungcheol’s face into a furious one.

 _“Did somebody touch you?”_ Seungcheol practically snarls, something dark, yet completely unreadable behind his eyes.

Jihoon startles. Seungcheol’s rumbling growl causing air to catch in his throat.

“No—no. They’ve all been pretty pleasant actually. It’s—all very weird.” Jihoon gestures at his life in general, and to Seungcheol, who seems to be taking serious offence to _something_. “I’m just not used to it.” He offers a small smile, understated but hopefully reassuring.

Seungcheol’s expression softens. “I get the impression you—don’t have good experiences with Alpha’s.”

“I don’t. Well—I _didn’t_.” Jihoon keeps his voice at a confiding murmur. He sighs. “Where I grew up, Omega’s are—third class citizens. Alpha’s got preferential treatment in everything and we hardly got a say—even in our own lives. There wasn’t many opportunities for us to—integrate either. We all sorta just kept to ourselves and if we had to socialise—it wasn’t exactly pleasant.”

Seungcheol doesn't seem fazed by the news in the slightest. Like he expected as much. “Sounds backwater.”

“It…. _was_.”

“So—now you’re in the city and you’ve got all these freedoms and you miss _‘Backwaterville’_?”

“No. No I don’t!” Jihoon says fervently. “I really like living here, and the friends I’ve made. I would never go back to that.” He murmurs, fiddling with a roll of toilet paper.

Jihoon’s aware that history is is...problematic. He knows that he's been damaged, in innumerable ways, at an impressionable age. He’s more than willing to admit that to himself, to admit that it has shaped him—that he’s let it shape him when he shouldn’t have.

When he looks up, Seungcheol is still there watching him patiently, head tipped down, eyes dark and Jihoon feels somehow obligated to keep talking.

“I guess it’s just something I need to get used to. I’m so used to having to fight for everything I want—it feels weird not to anymore. Does that make sense? I can’t shake the feeling that the minute I start letting my guard down, it will all get taken away from me.”

He’s whispered it so quiet, he’s not sure Seungcheol has heard him. Probably for the best—advertising his weakness is just asking to--

“Maybe you should give people a chance Jihoon.” Seungcheol speaks up then, voice firm yet warm. “Omega’s are not the only ones trying to shrug off the reputation their status bestows on them.” He says, with such simple conviction that Jihoon has no defence against it.

He’s always thought of himself as an observant man, very observant.

This is a pretty big observation to miss.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Jihoon murmurs.

“Don’t be—it’s fine.” Seungcheol says with a nod of understanding. “Just—come out of there, yeah?”

Jihoon scrubs both hands through his hair, leaves it sticking up in a million directions. “No—I don’t feel much like partying.”

“You don’t have to stay, I’ll take you back to your dorm.”

“No, no. That’s not fair on you. I’ll just wait here till Jun’s ready to go home.” he says, petulant and forlorn.

“What?—No, c’mon. I’m not having fun either—I was planning on leaving early anyway.” Seungcheol says, with palpable warmth in his voice.

Jihoon squints at him, gauging his seriousness, but Seungcheol is happy to elaborate. “It’s too crowded—the drinks are pricey and it’s really not my scene. I just came out to—to hang with somebody and take my mind of work. I’d rather get outta here.”

Jihoon swallows and works his jaw and ultimately just nods, and Seungcheol smiles like he is proud of him.

* * *

 

Seungcheol steers him out of the club, hand resting comfortingly between Jihoon’s shoulder blades as they weave between the crowds towards the exit.

The walk back is done in relative silence; Jihoon deep in thought while Seungcheol hums a nondescript tune under his breath.

“Thanks for walking me back.” Jihoon says quietly, shuffling from one foot to the other.

Seungcheol shrugs. “No problem. I guess I’ll see you—“

“Do you want to come inside?” Jihoon blurts out, cringing a bit at his clumsy wording.

Seungcheol gazes at him, wide-eyed, mouth agape, like he forgot what he wanted to say. When Jihoon fidgets with his key, he snaps out of it. “Really?”

Jihoon doesn’t know how to approach this.

“We can—hang out and stuff. _If you want._ Watch a movie or something. If you want to do those things in my room—with me.” Jihoon says and cringes again at how it comes out sounding like the lamest invitation ever.

“Yeah, that sounds—nice.” Seungcheol says. His voice is soft now, like he has no idea why Jihoon has given him this one. But he's too afraid to push it.

 

* * *

 

Jihoon unlocks his dorm room door and ushers Seungcheol in.

He’s almost finished his second term at college and he’s never invited an alpha into his room. But today is a day of firsts—and—he’s already regretting it.

His room is kind of a mess, but definitely not more of a mess than anybody else’s. It’s like, standard college mess, with an above-average ridiculous amount of books. He’s nervous about having Seungcheol in his room, but it not like it was his room in his  _house_ , for Christ’s sake.

It wasn’t like they were stepping through the looking glass into his childhood bedroom or anything, and Jihoon was going to re-enact every traumatic childhood experience through interpretative dance or something.

It was just a dorm room covered in Jihoon’s music posters.

Seungcheol is looking super uncomfortable though, hovering near the door like a burglar that has suddenly had an attack of conscience. He’s still wearing the bewildered look on his face like he can’t believe Jihoon invited him in.

Jihoon doesn’t blame him; you don’t go from ‘What the fuck are you looking at?’ to ‘Lets watch a movie together!’ without some kind of psychological whiplash.

It's times like this that Jihoon wishes real life was like a computer game where you had conveniently placed checkpoints. So you could reload and try things again if you messed them up.

Things like inviting hot Alpha’s into your dorm room.  

But reality is not a computer game. Real life is harsh, because real life is one-hit-kill all the time. Jihoon is pretty sure trying to be friends with Seungcheol without a series of helpful, time saving checkpoints is going to end badly, but they’re both here now, they're clearly doing this.

Jihoon shrugs off his jacket and toes off his shoes, tossing some books off his bed to clear it.  “You can sit down you know. Unless—you _like_ watching movies standing up.”

“Oh. Uhmm—Where should I sit?” Seungcheol asks, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing tentatively over at Jihoon like he’s a skittish animal he wants to pet. Jihoon would tell him to chill out, if he didn't suspect he was wearing the same expression.

“Anywhere you like—although—I’d avoid Jun’s bed. He hasn’t washed his sheets once since the start of term and let’s just say it’s a hotbed of DNA.” Jihoon tells him, because it's always polite to warn someone about something like that. Jun is gross.

Seungcheol snorts messy laughter, relaxing fractionally and stepping closer. “I couldn’t help but notice your alarm clock is wrong. It reads 21:15 and it’s just 21:00” He points out.

“I know. I set my clock fifteen minutes fast.”

Seungcheol stares at him.

“What?” Jihoon demands.

“I feel as though I have learned everything about you worth knowing in that one sentence.” Seungcheol deadpans.

Jihoon won't giggle, he won't - alright, but only a little.

“Fuck off—I don’t like being late for things. It helps me organise my day. Don’t judge me.”

Seungcheol laughs—a short, almost soundless gust of air—and says, “Fifteen minutes early—to everything? I am very much judging you Jihoon.”

Jihoon vents gustily and fails at looking unimpressed. “What movie do you want to watch?”

“What have you got?” Seungcheol asks, wandering over to the bed and sitting down on the edge.

Jihoon flips through his collection on the shelf by his desk. “Chopping Mall, Piranha, Night of the creeps, The Blob, Zombeavers, Birdemic, They Live, The gingerbread man, Motel Hell…”

“Those all sound—really shit.” Seungcheol says, with a dubiously raised eyebrow.

Jihoon laughs. “They are—that’s why I have them.”

Seungcheol gives him a bewildered look.

Jihoon sighs. “I like—watching shitty B-list Horror movies. They’re so shit—they’re good!”

Seungcheol doesn’t look convinced. “Okay. I’ll bite, what’s your— _worst_ favourite?”

Jihoon grins and picks one out of the stack. “That’s definitely gotta be Jason X.”

“Sell it to me.” Seungcheol says, leaning back against the cushions, half amused and half impatient, while Jihoon spins the unlabelled DVD on one finger.

“Okay. So you know—Jason Vorhees from the Friday the 13th movies? The hockey masked serial killer who murders horny camp counsellors in revenge for drowning in a lake once upon a time?”

Seungcheol nods slowly. “Yeah, that rings a bell. But from what I remember, those movies weren’t that bad. Maybe a little dated now—but still good.”

Jihoon chuckles knowingly. “Oh no—but get this. Jason X is—Jason Vorhees— _in space!”_

A flicker of amused interest crosses Seungcheol’s face. “I’m sold. Put it on.”

Jihoon flips the DVD into the tray, crawls down the length of the bed and seats himself next to Seungcheol.  He leans back against the pillows as well, in a way that shoves their shoulders together, without any sort of awkwardness at all.

“You’re going to love this movie, it’s really bad.” Jihoon says, as the title of the movie hits the screen in huge, blocky letters, complete with overly dramatic - and loud - music.

* * *

 

“Hold up? Why is he so hard to kill?” Seungcheol asks, as they watch Jason repeatedly regenerate after several failed attempts to kill him by the US government.

Jihoon answers simply. “Because he’s dead.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Seungcheol huffs, like the movie is now ruined beyond any hope of repair.

“I know.” Jihoon agrees easily. He has watched this movie so many times he’s lost count, but he isn't sure any of it makes sense. There's the slim chance it's not supposed to make sense.

“Did the previous instalments cover this regenerative power he has?”

“Hmm—not really. If they _have_ writers, _which I highly doubt_ —they all gloss over the details.”

“Now what the fuck is happening?” Seungcheol gasps, as Jason smashes through a cryogenic chamber and starts stabbing people—more than he was stabbing people a minute ago. And he was setting the bar for stabbing people earlier, so now there’s a lot of enthusiastic stabbing going on.

“The cryo fluid has leaked, and Jason and the psychologist get frozen in time.” Jihoon explains and Seungcheol scrunches his face like the scientific inaccuracy is actually giving him ulcers.

* * *

 

445 years later in movie, and 5 minutes in real life….

“Why does Jason keep killing everyone anyway? What does he get out of this?” Seungcheol demands, like that's a genuine question he needs the answer to.

“Are you asking me for Jason’s motivation? Because if you are, I think you're wildly overestimating how much thought the writers put into this movie. The  _people_  in this movie barely have motivation, beyond 'scream' and 'try not to die’ and also ‘sneaking away for secret sex’. It’s not meant to be deep Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol’s mouth scrunches up in a way that says he's unimpressed. “And—If you’re gonna inhabit a new fucking planet—why the hell would they call it Earth 2? And why leave him unattended in the morgue?” 

Clearly, the sheer awfulness of the movie is making him question everything—perhaps even his own life.

Jihoon snickers into his sleeve and pats Seungcheol consolingly on the knee. “There, there—a pretty awesome death scene is about to come up.”

“I doubt there is anything awesome in this.” Seungcheol says dryly, just as Jason freezes a science interns face with liquid nitrogen and then smashes her it into the counter. “Woah—ok. I take it back. That was pretty awesome.”

There’s a lot of ominous voiceover as scientists discuss the best way to kill Jason, intermixed with long shots of spaceships. And space. And Jason lurking.

It's nice sitting comfortably squished on his bed in the dark, watching a movie with a friend. Until Jihoon remembers  _who_  he's sitting next to in the dark, and then his heartbeat does this weird surprised-panicked flail inside his chest, and then has to take a second to slow down again. Only then he can't stop thinking about it, and it keeps doing it. He's pretty sure Seungcheol can hear it, even over all the bad acting and ominous voiceover and Jason lurking, which is  _still_  going on ten minutes later.

He wishes he could hear Seungcheol's heartbeat, but not in that soppy romantic way or anything. He just would like the comfort of knowing he’s not the only one quietly freaking out about this.

He suspects Seungcheol's heartbeat would be slow and unaffected, cause he’s an Alpha.

It would be a manly heartbeat, that probably only sped up for things like fighting, and scenting a really fertile Omega, and maybe jerking off - and Jihoon  _really_  needs to stop thinking about Seungcheol jerking off _._  

But, whatever, his heartbeat is probably slow as hell. He's probably bored even.

 No, please let him not be bored! Jihoon really hopes he isn't bored.

“Do you—want pizza?” Jihoon pipes up, because pizza is _never_ boring.

“I could eat.” Seungcheol nods.

Jihoon watches Jason Vorhees bash a man’s skull in the wall and then break another mans back from the corner of his eye, while he phones for pizza.

* * *

 

The pizza takes 20 minutes to arrive, which gives Jason enough time to take out a team of highly trained space soldiers. The protagonists in this movie are morons and kinda deserve horrible, painful death. Jihoon is pretty sure the whole movie would have been ten minutes long if they stopped touching things they weren’t supposed too, going insane and turning on each other, and wandering off alone. 

Seungcheol continues to make a variety of confused and pained expressions. Which Jihoon isn't going to stop finding hilarious any time soon.

When Jihoon’s phone buzzes, he crawls off the bed to go fetch the pizza from the lobby.

“I’ll be back in a sec—Don’t pause it, I know what happens next.”

“How many times have you watched this movie?” Seungcheol says slowly.

Jihoon doesn’t say anything. He just grins and ducks out the door.

When Jihoon comes back with pizza it's to discover Jason fighting with an Android who can’t act, even with their ridiculous computer generated android abilities.

Seungcheol’s face is a confused sort of pained as the female android does a series of summersaults towards Jason—lands right in front of him, then kicks him in the balls. The films budget certainly wasn't blown on stunt doubles, that’s for sure.

“Androids? Seriously Jihoon, What the fuck!” Seungcheol says, more in angry protest than confusion. Jihoon is sensing that this is going to be a recurring theme.

“Shh—it’s okay. There’s a good part coming up.” Jihoon assures, climbing back over to his side of the bed and reclaiming his seat next to Seungcheol. And it's completely accidental how their legs end up sort of tangled - and then stay that way.

Seungcheol doesn’t seem to be objecting. In fact, he leans in closer to Jihoon—arm resting behind him on the headboard. Jihoon’s not sure if it’s to get closer to _him_ —or if Seungcheol is just trying to get closer to the pizza.

There's certainly no confusing the intimacy of the gesture for friendly camaraderie. When Jihoon relaxes back into the embrace, doesn't shift or pull away there's...surprise on Seungcheol’s face, a pleasant sort of surprise, but it shifts while Jihoon’s still looking at him, becomes something warmer, with edges.

When he flips open the lid, Seungcheol steals a slice before Jihoon can even decide which bit he wants. Unsurprisingly, Seungcheol eats like the huge Alpha he is, like his body runs in high gear all the time. 

He’s onto his second slice in record time and Jihoon is still chewing through his first bite!

Since his dismemberment at the hands of the android, Jason has been accidentally regenerated by a damaged health chamber and has now transformed into— _wait for it_ —UBER JASON! Half hockey masked psycho killer—half cyborg. Stronger and deadlier than ever.

Seungcheol turns his head, and speaks close against Jihoon’s cheek. “This is officially the worst movie I’ve ever seen Jihoon. I’m disappointed in you. I thought you were _cool_.”  His breath is warm on his ear, and the teasing lilt of his voice makes Jihoon shiver.

Jihoon tries to look offended when he shakes his head, but his lips are quirked at the corners, dimples indenting his cheeks “How dare you. I invite you in to my home, and you criticise my taste in movies and have the balls to eat my pizza at the same time?”

“Luckily, your awful taste in movies has no impact on the delicious taste of pizza.” Seungcheol says through a mouthful of food. He swallows, and is on his fourth slice in no time.

“Oh my god—you are actually a machine. You’re like—Uber Jason—but instead of murder you have an unstoppable drive to eat all my pizza.” Jihoon gasps, when he can talk around the amount of pizza in his mouth.

Seungcheol’s answering smile is several shades of smug as he tears into his piece.

Jihoon subtly draws a line down the centre of the box in garlic and chive dip. Which Seungcheol looks at - and then ignores by flagrantly stealing a piece from his side.

“Hey!” Jihoon reprimands, smacking his on the leg. “The line is there for a reason. Stick to your side.”

Seungcheol snorts. “It’s ludicrous for us to split this evenly. I’m much larger than you—I should get more.”

“Fuck that. I can eat just as much as you—just not as fast.” Jihoon snaps, dunking his crust into the garlic and chive dip.

Seungcheol nudges him, a solid thump to the shoulder that sends him swaying. “You’re pretty possessive about food huh?” He says, and Jihoon thinks there's a crack in there somewhere about their pudding encounter.

“Don’t you start.” Jihoon drawls, starting to pick off the extra-large slices of mushroom off his next slice.

Seungcheol makes a low, rumbling noise in his throat a second before he leans over and steals the tub of dip balanced on Jihoon’s knee.

“Hey!” Jihoon protests, frowning as Seungcheol places the tub on the bedside table next to him. In a way that says if Jihoon wants it back he'll have to climb over Seungcheol to dunk his crusts.

And that is so very tempting, Jihoon kind of hates himself a little bit, for putting that mental image in his brain. Because now he can't stop thinking about being sprawled across Seungcheol's lap.

He really needs to stop thinking about it, eat his pizza and watch Uber Jason defy the law of physics by hurtling through space towards a ship of potential victims.

* * *

 

The unlikely explosions, gravity defying space hurtling and creative murders, die off in favour of more dialogue, which continues to barely makes sense. They obviously just found some science words they liked the sound of, and then peppered them through the script.

Jihoon looks down at the pizza box and find only one slice of pizza left on his side—there should be at least three.

"What the fuck? What happened to all the pizza on my side." he demands.

"Don’t look at me, I’ve been sticking to my side," Seungcheol tells him, and then gestures at the wobbly, smeared line of garlic sauce that's still mostly intact down the middle of the box.

Jihoon’s brow furrows. That makes no sense, because Seungcheol’s side of the box has three slices, and the extra-large slice of mushroom Jihoon removed…

"Oh my God, did you turn the box round when I wasn’t looking?" He gasps.

Seungcheol looks flustered around a mouthful of food. He’s shaking his head, and he looks like he's on the verge of either strenuous denial, or laughter, possibly both.

Jihoon is surprised enough by that that he gives a startled snort of laughter, and doesn't even call Seungcheol out when he steals the last slice on his side. Which is going to be a thing, Jihoon knows it. He's going to slowly starve to death in this friendship.

“See if I ever invite you back to my room again you fucking sneak!”

Seungcheol pouts. Which is a patently ridiculous expression on him—and unfairly effective.

Jihoon shakes his head. “Wipe that look of your face Cheollie, that kicked puppy look won’t work on me. You robbed me of pizza.”

Seungcheol gives him an odd look then. He’s smirking, but the bridge of his nose is pink. “You called me Cheollie.” He whispers, and Jihoon’s hand freezes as he reaches for another slice.

“Everyone else does, can’t I?” Jihoon mumbles, gaze sliding over Seungcheol’s face.

“Of course. It’s just nice to hear, coming from you.” Seungcheol says.

A close silence falls between them, filled only with the sounds of the movie still playing in the background.

There’s a terrifying moment when Seungcheol’s gaze drops to Jihoon’s mouth for a split second, and Jihoon licks his lips without thinking. Seungcheol grits his teeth, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

_Oh my God._

Jihoon is pretty sure Seungcheol wants to kiss him. Which is huge, because he hasn't looked like he's even thought about it so far.

They've been so busy trying to work out if they can actually sit around together and have conversations, that it seems like kind of a stretch to go from there to making out on Jihoon’s bed.

But Jihoon finds he's absolutely fine with it. He's completely ok with Seungcheol kissing him.

Which he doesn't seem to be doing. Even though Jihoon is totally giving him eye-permission or something.

He has no idea what to do. Should he say something? Or _do_ something to make it happen? Should he lean in? But what if he does something and somehow fucks it up, slips and face plants into Seungcheol’s crotch, or something. Or maybe Jihoon just has pizza on his face, and this has nothing to do with kissing at all. He probably has a big greasy slice of pepperoni on his cheek and that’s why Seungcheol is staring at him hungrily—cause he really likes pizza.

Maybe Seungcheol's just looking at him in general, and Jihoon is projecting because **_he_** really, really wants to kiss Seungcheol.

"Cheol."

He doesn't mean to say it, it just tumbles out, nervous energy or something.

“Yeah.” Seungcheol replies, a little breathless.

The door swings open then and they both lean back, sudden and jerky as Jun stumbles in drunk and collapses face first onto his bed. “Sup—guys.”

Jihoon and Seungcheol exchange glances, and then break out laughing.

* * *

 

The movie ends as it often does, with Jason’s death and a glimpse of his mask floating up to the surface of the lake—suggesting his return somewhere in the near future.

Seungcheol’s arm is warm around Jihoon’s shoulders where it’s ‘ _slipped’_ off the head-board, and his hair is untidy, and he looks like he belongs on Jihoon’s bed—in a way that Jihoon can’t get a handle on. The fact that they sort of fit together so _perfectly_.

And he shouldn’t be thinking that, he probably shouldn’t—but it feels huge to have gotten to this place. The place where you breathe out, stop watching everything you say, and everything you do. Where it's ok to just be whatever you are with someone.

Jihoon clicks the television off and watches as Seungcheol stands and stretches, managing to show off both his shoulders and his abs, to Jihoon's chagrin. No one should make a plain black t-shirt look that good.

Jihoon walks with him to the door and is suddenly all tension, and jittery, nervous energy. Because this was the most fun he’d had since he’s started college, the most relaxed he’d been and it was with an _Alpha_ and—Jihoon doesn't want Seungcheol to go.  It’s _insane_.

Seungcheol pauses just outside the door, pushes his fists into his pockets, suddenly a lot less relaxed once they're standing outside, and Jihoon knows he needs to do something to halt that slow, tightening of muscle.

“Thanks.” Jihoon says, and he doesn't realise how much he'd wanted to say it until it's out. "For coming in. I've never really done this before, and I know I haven’t exactly been very friendly." Jihoon shuts up and bounces on his toes, because he really doesn't need to take the conversation in that direction.

Seungcheol shrugs his shoulders. "Thank for inviting me in, I enjoyed it. I mean not the movie, that was kind of terrible, but the you part and the pizza part—that was fun, and different in a good way, so, umm, thanks."

It occurs to Jihoon then that Seungcheol’s talking like this isn't ever going to happen again, and the moment Jihoon realises it he feels a little bit sad. Not surprised, but still a little bit sad.

But the second he opens his mouth to speak, Seungcheol blurts out. “We should hang out more.”

“What? Really?” Jihoon says, feeling and probably sounding foolishly hopeful.

“Yeah. We both had fun—we could have _more_ fun. Maybe you can show me more awful films and I can show you a good one?”

“That sounds boring.” Jihoon snorts, and the half-smile Seungcheol's wearing falls apart and Jihoon realises how bad that sounded. “I meant watching good movies sounds boring, not the hanging out with you part.” He quickly corrects.

Jihoon gets the feeling that he in no way made that better, but suddenly Seungcheol stops looking quite so much like Jihoon stamped on his puppy. Or maybe Seungcheol's the puppy in this scenario. Jihoon genuinely doesn't know.

Seungcheol takes a step closer to Jihoon, his eyes fixed on Jihoon’s face. “Have you got any plans for the rest of the weekend? I mean—it’s cool if you’re busy—I just—do you?”

Jihoon takes a deep breath—and that doesn’t help at all when the Alpha is so close and he’s inadvertently breathing him in. “No, I was just going to the library to finish an assignment. But that can wait.”

Seungcheol smiles, like no one has even broken plans for him before. Because the whole world is clearly stupid.

There's a very long pause. A vibrating edge of purpose, intent, the weight of a decision as yet unmade. Jihoon doesn't push against it. Though he does tip his head back, looks Seungcheol dead in the eye.

“If you’re free, there’s this arcade downtown that just installed a bunch of shitty rail-track horror games. We could—play shitty horror games.” Seungcheol says tentatively.

“That sounds awesome. I like—shitty horror games.” He replies as casually as possible.

The whole casualness of the situation goes right out the window when Jun calls out from inside.

“Will you guys just exchange numbers already and stop having painfully awkward conversations in the hallway?”

The interruption leaves Jihoon blushing furiously, and Seungcheol smiling like a fool as they both reach for their phones. They exchange numbers and then Seungcheol’s eyes settle on his, glittering with sparks of light in the dark of the hallway.

“Uhm—so—I’ll message you?” He says, scratching the back of his head.

“Yeah. Awesome. Goodnight Cheol.” Jihoon says, a tad breathlessly.

“Goodnight Jihoon.”

Jihoon watches Seungcheol disappear down the hallway with what he’s sure is an idiotic smile on his face, but for the moment, he doesn’t much care.

* * *

 

Afterwards, Jihoon shuts his door, strips out of his clothes, and lays in bed. He wraps himself in the sheets, and buries his face in his pillow—sleepy, happy, exhausted and….

He finds himself inhaling deeply, breathing in the strong scent of Seungcheol clinging to his pillow. The second the alpha's pheromones flood his nostrils, he moans softly and turns onto his stomach. Blood quickly rushes south, making him hard instantly. Before he realises it, there’s a wetness between his thighs and he’s rolling his hips into the bed and…

_Oh—fuck._

**Author's Note:**

> 1) 14,000 words and not a line of smut.....WTF!!! How did this happen!  
> 2) I'm sorry if you were expecting smut...but I thought it would be nice to explain some history and cover why Jihoon...is the Jihoon he is in the previous parts of the series.  
> 3) Expect SMUT NEXT.  
> 4) OMG THEY DIDN'T EVEN KISS. Who am I today?  
> 5) Hope you enjoy reading. Please let me know your thoughts! I love new ideas for fic direction and appreciate feedback!
> 
> Oh also...Jason X is the worst movie ever. I'm not even making it up...it's real and very awful.


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